


the last true mouthpiece

by smallredboy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, Broken Bones, Exorcisms, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Priests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 06:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19267819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Aziraphale has to fend off suspicionsomehowwhen his congregation comes to him about the demonic, gay entity outside of the church. An exorcism seems to be in order, although Aziraphale is making it as fake as possible.





	the last true mouthpiece

**Author's Note:**

> for hc-bingo - accept injury to protect someone, badthingshappenbingo - accidentally hurt by friend, and 15kisses - bliss. 
> 
> enjoy!

Aziraphale might be a little paranoid. Just a little.

It's not his fault that every look some folks give him while he's hanging out with Crowley are filled with disgust. It's not his fault that the altar boy whispers with his friends as soon as he thinks he's out of Aziraphale's sight. It's not his fault that Crowley hangs out as close to the church as often as he can, looking around and never setting foot on it.

No one suspects anything, and that's it, and it's all fine. He's just seeing things.

At least, until one of the congregants reaches out to him with an inquisitive look and a few papers on his hands. His name is Newt, Newton Pulsifer if his mind recalls correctly (which it perhaps doesn't, he's terrible at names).

"Father Aziraphale," he says with a small nod. "I was, ah, wondering if you had any…  _ suspicions _ about that man who you hang out with?"

He freezes on the spot, blood roaring in his ears as he stares at Newt. He swallows and tries to regain his composure. "What kind of suspicious, Newton?"

"Well…" He looks through his papers once more. They're all printed with notes over the text. "Both the demonic kind and the, uh." His face goes a little pale. "Gay kind. Although both go hand in hand."

Aziraphale sucks in a breath and tries to get his thoughts in order. How is this happening? How can they tell so easily? How? He wants to throw up, his head spinning a little as he attempts to make sense of the fear coursing through his veins. He closes his eyes tight for a second and clenches his jaw so hard he thinks it might dislocate from the sheer force of it.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Newton," he says, trying to sound firm. "He is a normal man, of the kingdom of God, our Lord."

"Then why doesn't he ever get inside God's House?" Newt presses, squinting.

Aziraphale swallows the lump in his throat. "He already attends to a different church," he lies through his teeth.

Newt doesn't look too convinced on his explanation. He raises a brow but drops the subject, instead moving on to what they will do in a month's time in regards to Easter and the services therein.

He's glad Newt dropped the subject until next Sunday. There are far more whispers than usual, people looking around and talking to Newt about something clearly secretive. They greet him as always, but there's not the same adoration there. The same admiration of when they talked to him— it's gone.

As soon as mass is done with he hurries back to his bookshop, not even sparing Crowley a glance. He knows he follows him, though, his presence sneaking into the shadows and the footsteps behind him. He opens the door, slams it closed before anything human can get inside, but Crowley still does.

"What happened over there?" he asks, lanky arms wrapping around Aziraphale's wide frame.

He wants to say it all. How they know he's a demon, a gay demon, that he's been fraternizing with a faggot of a demonic presence, how they know it all. But he can't let himself say it, even as shame spills out of him so strongly he's sure Crowley can pick up every last bit of it.

"Nothing," he says. "Nothing."

Crowley knows he's lying, but he doesn't push. He pulls away and heads out, not before kissing the top of Aziraphale's head.

Aziraphale doesn't get a blink of sleep, not that day or the next. He ends up taking the insomnia pills on the counter he rarely takes (even when he  _ is _ in an insomnia spell). He doesn't give Crowley much of a glance throughout the whole week. 

* * *

The congregation knows and they are quite loud about it.

"Father Aziraphale!" One of the women exclaims, grabbing her rosary as one with blind faith might, "Why are you bonding with a demon?!"

"Father," one of the kids yells along, grabbing at his mother's skirt, "will the demon hunt us?"

He clears his throat even as his anxiety skyrockets, a brilliant idea popping in his head as more people clamour for him to something about the being. He puts his hands on the lectern and taps the microphone. "Silence, please! I am going to answer all these questions, but I need you to be quiet in the House of God. Yes?"

People start quieting down and he lets out a sigh of relief. He can feel a headache come his way, but he has to live through it if he wants to have everyone leave him alone about the demon.

"I have been fraternizing with this… being," he starts, and people gasp in shock. He shakes his head and drums his fingers on the lectern. "Purely to learn if he really is as demonic as his presence, ah, told me. The answer was a rotund yes, my dear children. And I am going to dispose of him— he must be inhabiting an innocent body, the body of a man who loves his Heavenly Father."

"So you are going to exorcise him, Father?"

Aziraphale has never performed an exorcism. He'd love to keep it that way and he's sure Catholic exorcisms do little for these demons who aren't anything like they've been depicted as for decades. Crowley has told him that holy water does hurt them, though, so he can't use that. As this is a ruse to get them away and to stop questioning him. It makes him itch with the need for approval, for them to nod and go 'yes, he is not breaking God's law'. Which he is, every day, just by daring to think about the demon in a positive manner.

"I am," he nods. "I am positive that foul fiend is outside right now, attempting to listen in. I will see to him getting exorcised as soon as we are done with Sunday mass. Does that seem fair to everyone?"

Everyone hums and nods in approval. He draws in a sigh and continues the typical routine, trying not to doubt with every word of the Bible he reads. He remembers what he’s read about exorcism— there doesn’t have to be a set prayer, you don’t have to make it all word for word. The intent will be enough. But he doesn’t have intent, he wants to pretend to have intent— he hopes it convinces them. He hopes they get off his back.

As soon as mass is over he finishes with a small bow.

“Let’s get the demon, Father Aziraphale,” Newt says, a hand on his girlfriend who Aziraphale can’t recall the name of but who doesn’t look all too happy being there.

He ignores it, he charges on and he heads outside, a few people leaving to go back to their homes while most of the congregation watches intently the interaction between Aziraphale and the demon, who is still fixing the garden outside of the church before noticing the dozens of eyes on him.

He turns around and he smiles at Aziraphale for a second before his smile fades.

He starts praying, following what he remembers from classes and Crowley stares at him wide-eyed, betrayal setting in his factions as he starts to be pulled off the ground, his hands and feet spasming as it goes upwards in his extremities. He goes on, his voice shaky as Crowley seems genuinely affected, people nodding on and praying. It’s when it has intention that’s the problem, see— Crowley’s left leg hits one of the walls of the church and it makes a terrible noise, and his sunglasses fall off with a thud.

Aziraphale’s eyes widen and he tries to remain calm as he stops his prayers. Crowley keeps spasming, more _shaking_ than spasming now— his whole body twitching as he tries and make eye contact with Aziraphale, his sclera seeming a paler amber somehow. That’s when he realizes what’s happening; the intent is making it work.

“STOP!” he exclaims. “We have banished the demon,” he says, trying and failing to not stammer throughout the announcement. “You should go home, I’ll take care of the innocent child of God this foul creature has taken hospice on.”   


“Of course, Father,” Newt says, giving him a nod. “Take good care of him!”   


There’s similar calls as people leave, Newt’s girlfriend looking a bit skeptical as she follows behind him.

As soon as no one is watching them intently, Aziraphale kneels in front of Crowley.

“Oh God, Crowley,” he whispers, holding him. “I’m so sorry— I shouldn’t have— I should’ve told you—”   
  
Crowley coughs a little, black blood trailing down his chin. “Why’d you do it? I thought you enjoyed my company. Can’t really trust humans, can I?”   
  
“No!” he exclaims, eyes widening as he realizes just what he believes. “Crowley, dear, I did not betray you, I was trying to get them off my back, they all knew—” He sucks in a breath. “They all knew you were a demon. I had to get them away. I didn’t expect…” He lets out a quiet whimper. “I’m sorry. I— Do I… Do I just get you to the hospital?” He’s trying not to cry. He’s trying not to cry because he hurt his immortal demon more-than-friend. He hates it, the wrong feeling seeping into his skin, how all he wants to do is plead for Crowley to forgive him.

Crowley stares at him and a fond smile makes its way onto his lips and oh God, he can’t help himself when tears start to roll down his cheeks. “You don’t have to. Just… ah… take me to your bookshop, why don’t ya?”   


Aziraphale straightens up and he carries Crowley bridal style all the way home, even as Crowley’s leg bends into impossible directions, even as Crowley gets heavier and heavier on him. He gets to his bookshop and gets in, making sure the sign says CLOSED. He sighs and puts him down on one of the reclinable couches, rubbing his side.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.   


“Stop apologizing,” Crowley grumbles. “It’s not gonna change the fact you exorcized me.”   
  
“There wasn’t any intention behind it,” he says. “That’s the most important thing. But the congregation—”

Crowley rolls his eyes and interrupts him, “Well,  _ they  _ obviously had some intention behind it.”   


He sighs and presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Yes, I know, dear." He looks down at his leg, still broken and still in s grotesque angle. It makes goosebumps form along his back just at how painful it looks. "I can bring you an ice pack, if you’d like.”   
  
“It’ll heal on his own,” he says dismissively. "It's just ah, I could fix it if it wasn't because of an exorcism. So it'll stay like that for a while."

Aziraphale's face twists. "I'm—"

"Stop apologizing," he hisses. "I'll be okay."

"You're not okay  _ now. _ And it's my fault." His voice quivers and he licks his lips, looking away. "I wanted to get people off my back about you and I hurt you."

"It's not the end of the world," he says, reaching out and offering him his hand. Aziraphale takes it without a second thought, squeezing gently. Crowley smiles.

They stay silent like that for a while before Crowley breaks the ice once again. "Well, now they think I'm human and I can't exactly hide my eyes…"

"Contacts?"

He smiles and shakes his head. "The Almighty made it so I'm easily identifiable. One would think a priest would know that much."

He blushes and stammers. "I forget you're the serpent sometimes," he tells him.

Crowley laughs and pulls him into a kiss. Aziraphale hums blissfully into it, eyes fluttering shut before he pulls away and is thrown back into Earth. Into the cold uncaring world he's fallen for a demon in; the world where the serpent of Eden is so much more caring than most humans.

"Well, yeah," he nods. "Contacts aren't an option. I was thinking of, ah… Just keeping it on the down low, you know?"

"You want this to be as secret as possible."

"For you," Crowley tells him. "I don't care in the least. But I can't imagine what would happen if your little  _ congregation _ found out you messed up their exorcism  _ and _ that you fancy the demon in question."

Aziraphale looks away and fiddles with his hands, fingers feather-light against Crowley's palm as he tries to form an appropriate response.

"No one in my congregation surely has the money to go to the Ritz," he tells Crowley slowly.

He tilts his head, smiling at him smugly. "You like our Ritz dinner dates."

"Of course I like our dinners at the Ritz!"

He laughs and pulls him into another kiss. "Well, I'd love to keep them going on if there's no chance your congregants will find out."

"Newton's wife  _ does _ have a lot of money— something about her aunt investing in Apple back when it was just starting up. But Newton would never go to the Ritz."

"Then we're safe." He pauses for a second. "Is he named after Isaac Newton?"

"I don't know. Why do you ask?"

"Well, mainly because he was gay and I slept with him."

"No you didn't!" Aziraphale exclaims, scandalized.

Crowley laughs, and Aziraphale finds himself enjoying their quiet bliss at his bookshop more than he's ever enjoyed anything before.


End file.
